


The Laws of Thermodynamics

by MythicallySnappy



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alcohol, Artistic interpretation of math and what an industrial engineering degree actually entails, College, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicallySnappy/pseuds/MythicallySnappy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Link finally lets loose in the midst of exam season, and Rhett's <i>smiling</i> and no matter how hard Link tries, he can't calculate the meaning behind it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Laws of Thermodynamics

**Author's Note:**

> I am endlessly, _endlessly_ inspired by mid-2000's indie music, and this fic was heavily influenced by Hot Hot Heat's sweet little tune [_Middle of Nowhere_](https://youtu.be/F_8liFfmtig). Give it a listen if you're so inclined!
> 
> And of course I need to thank my salty sisters [amanderjean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amanderjean/pseuds/amanderjean) and [pringlesaremydivision](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision) for coddling me like a baby and enduring my constant griping and moaning. And for beta-ing. Thanks guys, you're seriously the best.
> 
>   
>   
> [[img](http://physicsbuzz.physicscentral.com/2014/11/artifacts-from-archives.html)]

     Six large coffees, two packs of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, one barely edible cafeteria ham sandwich, and nine hours in the library, and Link’s done. He’s got a caffeine headache and his brain is ticking in the rhythm of kinematics and dynamics and velocity and force and efficiency. Hamilton’s Equations. Hamilton’s Principle. He feels like he and Hamilton are both kindred spirits and born nemeses. The total energy of the system (H) is equal to the sum of the kinetic (T) and potential energy (V). V + T = H. It’s an elegantly simple calculation and it makes perfect sense, until you start adding constants and variables and momentum. He puts away his textbooks with a groan, the weight of three years of higher education a burden in his backpack, and he leaves the library at 9:53, seven minutes before closing time.

     Even though it’s officially been spring for two whole days, the cold bite of winter still lingers in the night-time air. It’s above freezing, but not by much. He zips his jacket up to his chin and furrows his brow as he walks headlong into the brisk breeze toward his truck in the parking lot. Lionel Richie blares from his cassette radio, but only from the left speaker; the right rendered inoperative thanks to a blast of mud five years earlier. He drives back to his three-bedroom apartment calculating the force with which his two-ton 1987 Nissan pickup might hit a very stationary oak at 40 miles an hour. Again.

     Rhett’s waiting in the foyer of their complex, a half-empty can of PBR in his right hand and full one in his left, two unequal weights balanced precariously on an unstable fulcrum; too many newtons of torque pulling one way and then the other.

     “Linksterrr!” Rhett calls out when Link walks through the plexiglass door, raising the cans in his fists above his head. His knuckles nearly graze the ceiling as a fat drop of golden lager sloshes down and splashes in a foamy puddle at his feet. He’s cock-eyed and slurring, but his smile is as big as Link has ever seen it. “I broughtcha a beer, buddyroll!” He offers up the unopened can to Link, who accepts it while adjusting the single backpack strap that’s slowly cutting its way into the sharp bones of his shoulder.  
     “Thanks, Rhett,” he replies, popping the tab and slurping the bubbles that emerge. “You waiting for me? You didn’t have to do that.”  
     “Didn’t have to, but I did anyway.” Rhett drapes his arm around Link’s shoulders and gives him a brief squeeze. Link’s heart leaps into his throat but he swallows it down with another swig of beer. “You all studied up? Gonna ace your final?”  
     “I dunno, man,” Link sighs. “I’ve got a couple more chapters to go over and then I gotta review the whole thing.” Rhett steers Link toward the staircase as they begin their ascent up to apartment 3000C. Rhett is wobbly, and Link starts to wonder how much force he needs to help propel Rhett’s 180 pound body up a 35-degree staircase with the constant threat of gravity pulling him downwards at approximately 6.674×10−11 N⋅m2/kg2.

     “I missed you, bo,” Rhett babbles as they scale the third flight of stairs. Link’s huffing under the strain of Rhett’s weight slung over his shoulders; his backpack dangling at his elbow, hip throbbing in sharp pangs where he’d broken it only a few months prior.  
     “What d’you mean, dude?” he asks, flushing a hot pink as they finally crest the vertex of their climb and onto the faded burgundy carpet of the third floor.  
     “You’re always studyin’, man,” Rhett explains, gesturing effortlessly with his beer can. “Always at the library with your nose in them books.”  
     “It’s exam season, Rhett,” Link laughs as they trod down the worn path in the center of the hallway. “You oughta stick your nose in a textbook every now and again, too.”

     When they reach the door to 3000C, Rhett wrenches his arm off of Link’s shoulders and props himself up on the hallway wall. He holds his half-empty can of PBR against his temple and looks Link straight in the eyes.  
     “It’s all up here, Link,” he says. He’s dead serious, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised. “I already know as much as I’m gonna know and there ain’t no point in trying to cram any more up in there.” Link smiles, shaking his head, and gives him a playful push, shoving past him and into the living room.

     Tim and Gregg raise their beers and offer Link a lazy hello from their seemingly permanent positions on the yellow velour couch. The game is on and the two are transfixed; ogling the screen as it flashes from team to team, the camera shifting from the sidelines to overhead and back again. The room is smoky and the cracked window barely does anything to improve the air circulation. Link sheds his jacket and ditches his backpack at the door; setting his beer down on an end table, straightening his arms over his head, and stretching out the cramped muscles in his back and shoulders.

     Rhett plops himself down on the loveseat before knocking his head back and draining the remnants of his can. He looks at Link and smiles again; that same beaming, affectionate smile. He pats the cushion next to him and tilts his head. Link can’t help but smile back. Rhett isn’t making much sense to him; he isn’t sure if he’s missing something or reading too hard into his gestures. But Rhett’s thigh is warm next to his own as he sinks into the couch and he thinks he just won’t let Rhett faze him this time.

     “Where’s that joint?” Rhett asks the other two. Tim looks guilty and Gregg looks annoyed.  
     “Ah… shit, dude,” Tim balks. “You were gone a while and…”  
     “And you smoked it?” Rhett presses. He’s pissed, and Link can feel the heat steaming off his skin. “I told you to save it for when Link got home, Tim!” He kicks the leg of the coffee table, jostling the empty cans atop it and sending the glass bong into a dangerous wobble. Link wonders what angle it would have to tilt before tipping over completely and spilling noxious, month-old bong sludge all over their already stained carpet.

     Link appreciates the gesture, he really does, but he’s got to get to bed so he can get his favorite seat in the library tomorrow morning, those formulas aren’t going to memorize themselves. Tim looks relieved but Rhett isn’t having any of it.

     ”It’s Friday night, man, relax a little! You’ve been holed up in that booky prison for two weeks!” Rhett scowls at Tim and busts up another leafy green nugget, still moist and slightly sticky. “You’re gonna smoke this joint and chill out and drink some beer and you’ll still get to your beloved _library_ by eleven.” Link shakes his head and resigns, settling in next to Rhett for the long haul. He sips his beer and watches try Rhett roll up another joint with one eye closed. It’s a little bit uneven, a bit loose in some spots and tight in others, but it’s weed and it smells good and Link thinks he wouldn’t mind loosening up on the couch next to Rhett for a couple hours anyway.

     The joint goes counter-clockwise around the circle, lingering in Link’s hands a bit longer than anyone else’s. He feels his eyelids grow heavy and he’s _smiling_ , not for any reason in particular, other than Rhett’s fingers brushing against his own more and more often as the paper burns shorter and shorter and Rhett eventually has to steady Link’s wrist in one hand and carefully place the smoking roach between his fingers with the other. No reason in particular.

     The group chats and exchanges witticisms and quips, and eventually it seems like Rhett’s forgiven Tim, at least for the time being. Link still fends off anxiety about his upcoming exam, but he figures if he gets to the library at eleven, he’ll still have forty-six hours to study, a bit less if he makes time to sleep. Rhett makes him laugh, he always has, awkward limbs flailing with the dramatic re-telling of an encounter with an irritable liquor store clerk. Rhett’s 21, but his ID is a few years old, and he’s making a _face_ in the picture that makes him tough to distinguish.

     Link realizes he’s been sitting with an empty can in his hand for twenty minutes and pulls himself off the couch and heads toward the kitchen. He’s suddenly cold, goosies raising on his forearms and down the back of his neck. He throws a quick glance over his shoulder and Rhett is looking right at him, watching him walk away with an odd look on his face. When Link rounds the corner he lets out a long breath and lets himself rest against the wall. The world is a little bit fuzzy, vibrating a bit differently than usual.

     “Whatcha doin’, Link?” Rhett asks. He’s followed him in, teetering dangerously but he’s still _smiling_ and Link thinks he might look just like some sort of Greek god, his straight nose and dark eyebrows and the faint trail of facial hair sprouting along his jawline. He thinks Rhett might be a reincarnation of Apollo or maybe Zeus. He laughs, pulling himself off the wall and takes a few shaky steps toward the fridge.  
     “Just thinkin’,” he says, over his shoulder. He pulls open the fridge and it’s barren; two cases of PBR and every condiment under the sun. Rhett moves in behind him and he can feel the body heat from his proximity.

     Link thinks he might be stalling because a long arm reaches over his shoulder and pulls a can off the shelf, slowly closing the gap between them. Link lets out a soft gasp as he feels Rhett’s chest press up against his back. Fournier’s Law states that when two solid bodies come into contact, heat flows from the hotter body to the colder body. He doesn’t think this is exactly what Fournier had in mind, but Rhett feels like a furnace against his back and the chills that once prickled on his skin fade and Link thinks Fournier might be right anyway.

     “‘Bout what?” Rhett asks, but Link’s forgotten what the question is already and can’t think about much of anything other than how _warm_ he is and how the coals in his stomach are on fire and Rhett’s _touching_ him and he’s feeling a bit weak. He grabs a beer and spins around. Rhett’s got one hand against the wall and the other on the open refrigerator door and Link is pinned in a frigid situation and Rhett is still _smiling_ and he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.  
     “Uhh… what?” he asks. He’s sure his cheeks are as red as apples and Rhett looks so good and he feels himself go light-headed when Rhett brushes a stray strand of dark hair off his forehead.  
     “What?” Rhett replies, his incessant smile beginning to falter. His eyes rove over Link’s features, his blue eyes and his sharp jaw, and linger for a moment too long on his mouth. Link swallows hard as the tip of Rhett’s pointed pink tongue peeks out from between his lips, a minuscule gesture that could topple buildings or crash airplanes, or, at the very least, shred the last pieces of Link’s resolve.

     “You’ve gotta give me something to go on, Rhett,” he says, his voice just above a whisper. Rhett takes a deep breath and gives a barely perceptible nod, his olive eyes locked on Link’s.

     “Can someone grab me a beer?” Gregg calls out from the living room. His voice hits Link like a freight truck. “What are you guys _doing_ in there, anyway?” Gregg mutters, just loud enough for his voice to carry. “Geez.”  
     “Yeah, sure,” Rhett calls out over his shoulder. He makes one last reach past Link into the open fridge and plucks out a second can and heads back into the adjacent room. Link feels instantly sobered, staring at his socks on the checkered linoleum floor. He pops the tab on his beer and waits a beat before following Rhett back into the living room.

     He sits back down onto the loveseat, making sure to leave a buffer of air between his and Rhett’s thigh. He sips his beer in long, slow gulps, replaying the scene in the kitchen. Rhett had nodded, he’s sure he did, but he’s consistently inconsistent and he’s not sure what to make of the whole thing, so he just sips his beer in a daze, staring at a stray ash on the coffee table.

     Newton’s First Law of Motion is that a body at rest remains at rest unless acted on by an external body. And Link stays as still as a beetle trapped in amber until he hears Rhett make a wisecrack at Tim’s expense and bursts out in a fit of laughter, throwing his arm over Link’s shoulder yet again. He spares a glance Rhett’s way, and he’s got that _smile_ back on his face, and he jostles Link a little bit and Link’s smiling again, too.

     Link’s not sure how many beers he drinks, but it’s close to one in the morning and he’s feeling warm and fuzzy and his eyelids are heavy and not just because of the pot. It seems like he hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in over a month, caught in a whirlwind of lab reports and tests, pounding back coffee after coffee all the while. And tonight, on the loveseat, his side pressed up against Rhett and his head lolling back onto his shoulder, Link feels more relaxed than he has in ages. He doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t, but he nods off, the empty can in his hand held lightly in his limp grip.

     “Link,” he hears Rhett whisper. “C’mon Link, wake up.” He’s bleary eyed and blinks a couple times before he notices that Tim and Gregg have abandoned their post on the couch. The lights in the kitchen are off, the window is closed, the TV is muted and the apartment complex is quiet. Link pulls his head off Rhett’s shoulder, but his arm is still around him and he’s so warm and comfortable that he dreads getting up and crawling into his cold, hard bed.  
     “Sorry for sleepin’,” he says, setting his empty beer aside and rubbing an eye with a loosely clasped fist. “We were havin’ a good time.”  
     “Nah, it’s alright,” Rhett replies. “I was thinking about what you said.” His voice is hushed and his face is so close to Link’s that he can smell the alcohol on his breath.  
     “Oh, uh,” Link feels his blood pressure spike and suddenly he’s very, very awake. “I don’t— I don’t really know what that was all about.”  
     “No, you do,” Rhett says, and he’s right. “And maybe… maybe there’s a bit of me waiting for a bit of you, Link.”

     Link feels like his brain is imploding on itself, trying to make sense of Rhett’s admission in a whirl of formulas and calculations. Rhett’s a constant, a factor that’s never faltered. Ever present, always there. The potential energy (V) in the room is electric, crackling in every fixture and there’s static ringing in his ears that he can’t explain. But the variables are what’s confounding, the why’s and the what if’s and the what’s happenings. He can’t calculate the kinetic energy (T) without knowing the momentum but he sees Rhett take a deep breath and his head is coming closer and Link closes his eyes and tilts his chin and suddenly there’s a pair of lips on his and he thinks that the total sum of the energy in the entire system (H), maybe even the entire solar system, is right here, on the loveseat, between him and Rhett. V + T = H.

     Newton’s Third Law of Motion is that when one body exerts a force on another body, the second body simultaneously exerts a force in equal magnitude against the first. And when Rhett’s tongue brushes against his lips and prods gently at the space between them, Link opens up and licks into Rhett’s mouth and he’s never tasted anything quite like it in his life. The coarse hair along Rhett’s jawline scratches against his own but that’s just friction, a component of drag, and he doesn’t mind all that much. He doesn’t think that this is exactly what Newton had in mind, but Rhett’s free hand slides up his cheek and Link’s hands slide down his chest and they’re wrapped up like a Tesla coil and Link thinks Newton might be right anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I really enjoyed writing this; even the physics stuff was fun to pull apart. I haven't looked at this many formulas in years so if there's any science majors reading this... I'm sorry, haha.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [@ratchetrhink](http://ratchetrhink.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Comments, questions, critique and kudos are always, _always_ loved and treasured beyond wildest belief. I hope you enjoyed!


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